The Jorvik Chronicle by Nesbitt William M;

Author:Nesbitt, William M;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
Published: 2020-10-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

As Goi passed into Einmánudur, the feast of Eostre21 would be held to Ostara, the goddess of spring, and Freyja, for renewal and fertility. Gifts of coloured eggs would be exchanged. Sigrvard was now seventeen winters and stood five feet eleven inches, muscular with a well-trimmed blonde beard, gathered at its tip into a gold dragon beard ring, and taller than the average Dene, with only dim memories of his fadelsdagen, but knew it had been around this feast time. He had decided Eostre was as good a time as any to celebrate his birthday. He told Assi of his decision on the way to the langhus for the celebration.

“Til hammómed amo,” Assi congratulated him.

“Thakka, but I would prefer we kept this to ourselves.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

The next day, Gautrek arrived with six huskarls as escort. It was a surprise, a point made by Sigrvard.

“My king asked me to travel to express how well-pleased he is with the progress of the mounted warriors.” He mused at such a gesture to convey that which had already been conveyed. He wasn’t wrong.

Over a beaker of wine at Sigrvard’s house, Gautrek, sat facing him, leaned forwards.

“It is not for me to give you details of the forthcoming war, but I must impress upon you the importance of bringing your herlid up to battle-readiness. How many can you raise?”

“With my horse-warriors, huskarls and trained warriors, adding to the freemen farmers, artisans and field workers— with sickles and such for weapons— I would estimate around six hundred.”

Gautrek scratched his beard thoughtfully.

“Their training is well in hand. So, this is a war, not a raid?” Sigrvard asked the obvious.

“This is why it is being called ‘The Great Army’, and that is all I can tell you. You must wait until the Althing, and now, if I can impose on your hospitality further, I need to rest.”

“Of course, a room has been prepared for you, and setts in the hall for your men.”

“Thank you, Jarl Sigrvard, then I will bid you goodnight.”

Sigrvard was restless that night. Frisia? Frankenland? Where? Finally, he drifted into a fitful sleep.

* * *

At the beginning of Harpa, Vidar sailed for Serkland— the lands of the Arab. Before he left, Sigrvard asked him to bring back examples of their Islamic silver dirham coinage, usually melted down by the Denisc or used in jewellery.

“Silver coins?” Vidar’s response was predictable. “Why? We have no use for them. Those we bring back, we waste time melting them down for use as ‘hack-silver’ for shaving down using our scales and weights. They are superfluous to our Denisc economy.”

“It may not be so in the future. As a Seer, I have an idea this may change in times to come.”

“In your role as Seer, I cannot but believe your predictions— as a merchant, you have made me wealthy in the extreme. Is there more?”

“Yes, my friend. Sometime after the birthing, I shall require half of our trading fleet to be converted to readiness for war.”

“War? The one word that means loss of trade.

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